A bus parked out in the lot.

“Don’t struggle, and we’ll have no problems” the man says as he picks you up bodily, and hefts you over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Numbed by the events of the last thirty minutes, you say nothing and offer no resistance.

The man smells rank, and his hair is greasy, but you don’t care and hang limply over him. As your captor, his two comrades and the man in the peaked army officer’s hat move through the mall you glance at you reflection in the glass windows of the passing storefronts. Your hair has become unbraided, and hangs over your head, covering your eyes, and you have to pull it out of your face to see. You pants are still unbuttoned from you ****, and they’ve shifted, moving down to reveal a large portion of your smooth ass cheeks. Not wanting to piss off you later finds is the one called Anders, you don’t try to pull them up, and instead look over at the two other men and their women prisoners.

A tall gaunt man with scraggly hair and a pair of reflective sunglasses has a girl of about twenty draped over his shoulder in a similar manner to her. He’s not as strong as her captor, so periodically he sets her down on the ground to walk along side him. There’s no real chance for her to escape, as in one hand he hold a large caliber nickel plated revolver, and in the other a heavy leather leash, attached to a collar that’s firmly buckled around her neck. Her blonde hair is short, and very curly, she’s either already been violated, or caught by surprise, as she’s dressed in nothing but a matching set of red bra and panties. Like everyone else’s clothes they look like she’s been wear them for a while, and are smudged in some places with dirt. She’s a very pretty girl and the kind that men with no restraint would love to make their ****. She meets your eyes briefly, and gives you a wan smile.

Following a bit behind them, but to your right side is the last man, and his captive, a woman in a dirty and tattered black pinstriped skirt and jacket. The white cotton shirt she is wearing under the jacket has been pulled out of the skirt, and the tan nylon stockings or pantyhose that cover her legs are full of runs and snags. Somewhere along the road she lost her shoes. She sobs quietly, and her black hair hangs limply down off of her head much like yours. Her captor is dressed in black motorcycle style leathers, and he wears a black cowboy hat on his head. He’s the most powerfully built of the three. A sawed off shotgun hangs in a holster from the side of his waist opposite his prisoner.

The seven of you exit the mall, and parked out in front you spy a large touring bus, like the kind popular singers used to use in the days before the plague. The man in charge directs the men towards the bus. “Get them inside, and then we can get back to base camp” he says as the door to the bus opens with a loud hiss.